Hot Pursuit
by MissTempleton
Summary: Bert Johnson isn't in the habit of doing people favours. Every so often, he's reminded of the reason why.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"She's dead, then?"

"Yer."

"What did the coroner say?"

"Nat'ral causes."

"So what now?"

"Gonna leave town for a bit."

Bert raised his eyes from his pint and slid a glance at his best friend.

"You be okay?"

"Too right."

Cec shook his head.

"Don't get me wrong, it's a shame she's gone and all. But me and Alice're rapt."

"What ya got to leave town for then?"

"Alice gets the Ballan house. We've got to go and see the family. In Echuca. Sign papers and stuff."

"Then what?"

Cec eyed Bert apprehensively. "We're thinking we can sell the house and buy a little flat down here. Then fix a wedding date."

Bert studied his pint, expression a blank.

"Will you be okay?" ventured Cec.

Bert grunted, and slid a sidelong glance with a half-smile.

"Cec, you're my mate, not my mum."

Cec grinned in relief, and Bert continued.

"Go and get Alice her inheritance. I'll still be here when you get back."

Cec nodded, then his face fell and he slapped a hand on his knee in frustration. "Blast!"

"What's up?"

"The ring," said Cec. "I left it at a jeweller to be re-sized – Alice's fingers are smaller than my nan's. Be ready Thursday, but that's when we've got an appointment with the lawyer in Echuca."

"Want me to get it?"

"Ah, ya beaut! Cheers!"

Pints were clinked and drained, and the red raggers went their separate ways in comfortable harmony.

Bert didn't regret his offer, precisely, but there were tasks he'd rather have tackled than the one he undertook a couple of days later.

"Got a ring to collect. Name of Yates." He felt utterly out of place in the luxurious atmosphere of the jeweller's, and reacted by leaving his hat firmly on his head and sticking his jaw out pugnaciously, as though expecting the assistant to take exception to his presence and punch it. The man's demeanour, though, remained stately.

"Certainly, sir. All paid for, I believe. One moment," and he shimmered away to a counter at the rear of the shop to rummage through a drawer. A minute later he returned with a small leather box. "Here we are." He flicked open the lid and displayed its contents proudly.

"Strewth!" was Bert's startled response, before he remembered that he was unimpressed by displays of filthy capitalism; but he reflected inwardly that Cec must really love Alice a lot, and Cec's nan must have been a lot filthier a capitalist than Bert had previously suspected. The gold band supported three stones; two matching diamonds nestled alongside an improbably large and lusciously deep red jewel which was surely a ruby.

"Would sir like me to wrap the box?"

Bert stared at the assistant, momentarily nonplussed; then collected his wits. "Nah. Nah, it's fine." Stuffing it unceremoniously into his coat pocket, he beat a hasty retreat, stumbling past two well-built gentlemen who were trying to enter the store as he left. He'd left the taxi parked by the kerb, and sank gratefully into the driving seat, reaching for the starter and waiting only for a precarious truck to pass before pulling away.

He was so intent on the truck's load, which seemed likely to collapse onto any vehicle that risked approaching too closely, that he didn't look in his mirror to see two well-built, newly irate gentlemen erupt from the jeweller's onto the pavement, look frantically around and sprint – fruitlessly – in his taxi's haphazard wake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Ouch!" Mary Lou bit her lip and shifted to try and make her foot more comfortable where it rested on the kitchen stool.

"You really should try to keep still," chided Mr Butler gently. "You know what the doctor said – it's only a bad sprain, but if you don't rest it, it will take longer to heal, and then where will we be?"

"Where we are now, and then some," retorted the nanny, "more's the pity. Here's Miss Elizabeth got to go for her shoe fitting and I can't take her. And the poor mite's barely able to walk in the ones she's got!"

"I wish I could help," Mr B apologised, "but I promised Miss Fisher I'd wait in for the French polisher and keep an eye on him after what happened last time; and Soo won't be back from her grandmother's until teatime."

They surveyed glumly the child who, oblivious to the problems she was causing, sat happily barefoot on the kitchen floor, turning over the pages of a picture book. As they did so, there was a clattering at the back door and Bert stuck his head around.

"G'day," he said. "Too late for a brew?"

The other two adults in the room exchanged glances. Mary Lou's was alarmed; Mr Butler's was all smiles. "Not at all, Albert – your timing is impeccable. Come in and sit down; I'll pop the kettle on."

"Mr _Johnson_!" cried Elizabeth gleefully. She liked Bert. He'd started carrying around a packet of lollies that looked just like cigarettes, and when nobody was looking, he'd slip one to his favourite toddler, who would promptly stick it into the corner of her mouth, exactly in the manner of her benefactor. It tickled him enormously, though he'd had to warn her not to let her parents catch her. (Had he but known, her mother already knew, and was intrigued that Elizabeth's fondness for observing faces was giving rise to a talent for mimicry – Bert only saw the style with the lolly, and hadn't realised the two-year-old had also mastered his lugubrious expression. Perhaps her father's histrionic skills were coming through already?).

"G'day, Trouble," he grinned, and looked with apparent interest at the book she wanted to show him.

"Albert …" began Mr B as he put a mug of tea in front of the red-ragger, "… are you very busy this afternoon?"

"Oh, we can't ask Mr Johnson!" said Mary Lou, perhaps more firmly than was strictly necessary, shooting Mr B an angry look. _You can't possibly trust my angel to that reprobate!_

"Nonsense, Mary Lou," replied Mr B soothingly. "It will be a treat for them both. Surely you wouldn't propose binding Miss Elizabeth's feet to stop them growing any more?"

"Here, what's that?" asked Bert, looking from one to the other. "No-one's going to hurt the kid if I've got anything to say about it!"

Mr Butler chuckled and explained the problem; and Bert – who would have started a _bona fide_ blue with any fool who tried to call him a nursemaid a scant few months previously, shrugged and agreed.

Thus it was that interested observers would have seen the entertaining vision of one of the City of Melbourne's leading communist sympathisers, hand in hand with a smartly-dressed toddler whose lolly was a hilarious match for the ciggie sported by her escort, descend from a taxi cab and walk a short way to the cobbler's by Flinders Street Station. Their expressions matched, and she even had his slightly rolling gait down to a tee; in short, they were delighted with one another, and even more so when they exited the shop a little while later, because Elizabeth's feet didn't hurt any more.

"Mr Johnson?"

"Yer?"

"Can we look at hats?"

He mused for a moment, but decided it wouldn't do any harm, and they strolled up the steps to view Buzolich's display. They were just comparing the relative merits of a fedora and a wide-brimmed trilby when they were startled by a cry.

" _That's him_!"

Bert swung round, and saw two gentlemen, of identically fuming appearance, running in his direction. At first his reaction was to glance over his shoulder – then he realised their eyes were fixed on him.

Bert had been pursued in the school yard on the rare occasions he'd entered it. He'd been pursued on the dock front. He'd been pursued, God help him, through the streets of Paris by the furious madam of a bordello, waving a cane and cursing fit to turn the air blue. In all the above cases, he'd discovered a sound course of action, and he decided to put it into play once more.

Snatching Elizabeth into his arms, he ran for it.

Dodging between the hurrying populace making to and from the trains inside the station, he thought he might be giving his pursuers the slip, and nipped behind a pillar to catch his breath and reconnoitre; but soon saw he'd gained breathing space but not much else. They had split up and were working their way through the crowd at a brisk pace, looking all around as they did so.

He sank to a squat on his haunches and exchanged a glance with the child in his arms, who looked back at him enquiringly.

No matter what, he couldn't have her caught up in this – whatever it was. He hadn't even time to search his conscience for a reason why he might be under attack; all he knew was that a quiet life was for mugs and he and Cec'd had a few busy nights recently after chucking-out time. Panicked, he scanned the area for a possible place for her to hide; then his eye was caught by an even better answer. He set her on her feet and whispered urgently, pointing across the busy concourse.

Clever child that she was, she caught on quickly and, in response to his gentle push, trotted the few yards to her target.

Constable O'Malley wasn't supposed to be at Flinders St, but his sweetheart was due in any minute on the train from Gippsland where she'd had a few days' holiday with her sister, and he wanted to surprise her. The surprise was turned on its head when he felt a tug on his trouser leg. Looking down, he saw a small girl with short, dark hair composedly returning his gaze.

"Hello, young lady, are you lost?" he asked.

"No," she assured him.

"Looking for your mum?" he hazarded.

"No," she confirmed.

"Er … what, then?"

"Want my Dadda please," she stated politely.

The constable kept his countenance with difficulty. "Okay, but I don't think I know your daddy, sunshine."

"Yes, you do," she informed him, nodding emphatically.

"What's his name, then?" O'Malley asked patiently.

"'Spector Robinson."

It turned out O'Malley just might have heard of her Dadda after all. Miss Elizabeth Jane Robinson was escorted with due ceremony from the concourse of Flinders St Station; Albert Johnson watched her go with relief, and turned his mind to his other pressing problem.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Hello, Betsy!" Detective Chief Inspector Jack Robinson heard Sergeant Collins' exclamation in the outer office and thought he must have misheard. That was Mrs Collins' pet name for Jack's daughter, and Collins' greeting had exactly the right tone …

"'lo, Unca Hugh!" he heard the piping reply, and knew he hadn't misheard at all. Jumping to his feet, he strode round his desk and saw his little girl caught up in his sergeant's arms, giving the man a hug which would have cut off the circulation to his head if she'd been strong enough. A faintly-familiar officer stood awkwardly by the front door.

"I'm sorry ... is it ... O'Malley?" The man straightened and nodded, flushing slightly at being recognised.

"Yes, sir. She came up to me in the station at Flinders Street, I didn't see where from ... I was watching for a train ..." He stopped before he had incriminate himself more than necessary.

"Were you on duty?" asked Jack, suddenly aware that he might have interrupted some exercise of which he hadn't been warned.

The man squirmed. "Not exactly, sir. But she asked for you by name. I didn't see anyone with her and thought it best …"

"Well, she's always been told to ask a policeman if she needs help. I can only thank you," said Jack simply and having bid the man a warm farewell, turned to gather his troublesome child from his sergeant – thankful that at least one of the womenfolk in his life was prepared, on occasion, to follow instructions.

"Collins, please leave a message at my home that Miss Elizabeth is here, in case Miss Fisher should happen to go there first." Phryne was, he reasoned, supposed to come straight to City South once she and Mrs Collins had completed a task in Richmond, but he well knew it was a bad idea to take her plans for granted.

His lack of faith was, on this occasion, misplaced; less than five minutes had elapsed before the Honourable Phryne Fisher sashayed into the Detective Chief Inspector's office. She then stopped short: her usual spot on the corner of his desk appeared to be inhabited by an interloper. A very charming, female interloper, to whose presence she was powerless to object. She raised her eyebrows and grinned quizzically at her husband.

"Starting them young these days, Jack? Hello, poppet," she said, catching the child deftly who swung round at the sound of the familiar voice and tried to fling herself into her mother's arms. "Whatever are you doing here?"

"I runned away," announced Elizabeth proudly.

Phryne looked to Jack in mystification. Surely the child hadn't toddled all the way from St Kilda?

"One of our men found her on the concourse at Flinders Street," he explained. "She appears to have introduced herself, and he brought her to me."

"Then I hope you've given him a medal, Jack!" she exclaimed.

"Not exactly, but a firm handshake and assurance of my grateful thanks seem to have worked quite well," he temporised. O'Malley had also quietly pocketed a note which would allow him to buy his sweetheart a dinner that would more than make up for his having missed her at the station.

"How on earth did she get there, though?"

"I was about to ask when you came in. Elizabeth?" The child, who'd become fixated with her mother's long string of Murano beads, looked up. "Who were you with at the station?"

Elizabeth turned back to passing the beautiful glass through her fingers. "Mr Johnson," she said.

"I'll have his hide," muttered Jack.

"We were _running away_ , Daddy," she said gleefully, as though it had been a game.

"Oh?" Phryne tensed imperceptibly. "Who were you running away from?"

"Mens."

"How many men?" Jack tried to make it sound casual. Elizabeth wasn't precisely counting yet, but she had the concepts of One, Two and Lots in her head, usually in the context of Mr Butler's biscuits.

"Two mens."

The sleuths exchanged glances; Phryne tipped her head and opened her mouth to frame a follow up.

"A fat one like Mr G'lanski, 'n' a big one," said Elizabeth. Jack nodded. Mr Golanski was the Polish butcher, built on generous lines. But the witness hadn't finished her statement. "Big one was even bigger'n Mr Yates. Hair like Mr Johnson's."

As realisation dawned that perhaps, rather than abandoning their daughter, Bert had managed to spirit her to safety while himself under threat, Jack's chilling anger underwent a perceptible thaw.

"Our daughter, Jack, appears to be a magnet for danger," remarked Miss Fisher.

"I can't _think_ where she gets it from." It had always been Jack's job to play the Straight Man and with his child safe and sound, he was inclined to a little light relief.

Jack called out to the sergeant. "Collins?"

"Yes sir?"

"Can you telephone Flinders Street Station? Ask if there's been any kind of a disturbance in the past hour or so. Mr Johnson may have run into … issues." Collins nodded and headed to the telephone. "I suspect that, if Bert's run into trouble, we should probably offer to help," he said ruefully.

"I should say the trouble is more or less a given, Jack," Phryne replied. "The only remaining questions are why, and how many people were injured." Another question occurred to her, and she turned back to Elizabeth, who was perched once again on the corner of Dadda's desk and admiring her new shoes.

"Elizabeth, did Mr Johnson know the men, do you think?"

The little girl smiled, and her distorted reflection in the shoes smiled blearily back. "No, Mumma. We didn't runned away at first."

Her parents nodded in agreement with her logic, then did a simultaneous double-take when they realised who'd been speaking.

Phryne grinned delightedly. Jack thought wistfully that there were one or two of his men who could not, with the benefit of twenty or thirty years' experience, add two and two together with quite such insight as this child.

Collins knocked on the open door. "Sir? I spoke to the station manager at Flinders Street. Nothing doing."

"Thank you, Hugh," smiled Phryne, and raised an eyebrow at Jack. "Well, either Bert's pursuers were wonderfully subtle in capturing my favourite communist, or he got away."

"In that case, he's going to have some explaining to do," said Jack darkly.

"When he reappears. _If_ he reappears," queried Phryne. "Perhaps he'll go to ground?"

Given that Albert Johnson was, at that moment, lying on the road underneath his own taxi cab, her idea was unwittingly apposite.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

In the well-loved tradition of the game of Cat and Mouse, Bert was normally in favour of taking the Cat's role. However, not having the slightest idea why these two blokes would be after him, he was doing his best to be the most surreptitious Mouse imaginable.

Having watched Elizabeth skip out of the station, her hand firmly clasped in that of a surprised but probably trustworthy policeman, he kept a low profile, crouching and pivoting around the pillar that was providing cover as his pursuers passed by. One or two people looked at him a little curiously, but no-one had time to spare to point and ask, so he risked rising to his feet and for once truly blessed his short stature. He then did his best to blend into the stream of humanity leaving down the station steps.

A hundred yards away sat the taxi whose ownership was shared equally with Cec – probably living it up with his in-laws in Echuca, thought Bert bitterly. Dare he approach it? But how else had his pursuers found him?

He'd strolled around it and had his hand on the driver's side door when he caught sight of his bêtes-noir on the station steps. With no time to escape, and not wishing to become a sitting target, he crouched down behind the door. To no avail; as he peered over its corner, he saw them walking towards him. Cursing inwardly, he buttoned his overall in an attempt to protect his clothes and rolled under the vehicle.

There was no need for him to hold his breath, next to one of the busiest thoroughfares in the whole of Melbourne, so he'd have been hard pressed to explain why he did so. He heard their conversation clearly enough, though. Two pairs of shoes halted directly in his line of sight. Neither pair had seen the attention of brush and polish since they'd left the shop; he was reminded wistfully of Miss Elizabeth, whose new shoes would not be allowed a full day's tarnish if Mr Butler had any say in the matter.

"Bastard's legged it."

"It's his cab, though."

"Too right."

"You'll have to watch it."

"Me?"

"Yer. He's bound to come back sooner or later."

"I can't watch it. I've got to report to Vimer."

"Well, there's no use me watching. I can't take him on my own."

A short silence ensued, while both parties shuffled their feet.

"Watch it and follow 'im. Be yer neck, else. You know Vimer."

A hesitant pause.

"But … orrigh'"

The broader footprint waited no longer, but turned away from the faintly pathetic narrow footprint and strode away.

The remaining feet stood still; then did a dance-like shift.

Then the heels bounced slightly.

Bert watched them and, for the first time in the past half hour, relaxed a little. There were some elements of body language that no man could mistake, and he was witnessing them right there. Escape was, he now knew, guaranteed; it was only a question of time.

Another rising on to the balls of the toes, and as the soles of the feet found earth once more, one foot turned slightly inward to face the other.

Bert found it in him to pity the man. Soon would come the mild burning sensation. For a few seconds, he wondered whether Narrow Feet would throw decorum to the winds and relieve himself against Bert and Cec's precious taxi cab.

But no – what might have done for a back alley of Little Lon after dark would risk arrest in broad daylight in one of Melbourne's busiest thoroughfare. (For the second time in a scant half hour, Albert Johnson had cause to be grateful to Melbourne's Finest, though only the most irrational optimist would suggest that it made him _like_ them.) An explosive curse and Narrow Feet scurried away with a curiously scuffed pace, towards the nearest Public Convenience.

Bert rolled out from his hiding place and rose cautiously to his feet; but the only person who could possibly have been agitated by his presence was currently luxuriating in a very specific form of relief.

The starter worked first time, and the taxi inserted itself immediately into the passing traffic with a manoeuvre that only a cautious-yet-determined cabbie could engineer.

Bert set his course for St Kilda and his mind furiously to work.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Not a naturally cautious person, Bert decided nonetheless to avoid giving any immediate clues as to his whereabouts. He parked a few streets away from The Esplanade and completed his journey on foot, glancing nervously over his shoulder most of the way and slipping in at the kitchen door without waiting for a reply to his knock.

Mr Butler looked up from the act of slicing vegetables for dinner, and flung down the knife

"Albert! The Inspector and Miss Fisher will want to know you're here. Where on earth have you been?"

"Hiding," replied Bert morosely.

"There's a coincidence," remarked Phryne as she strolled into the kitchen. "The Inspector was talking about your hide just a little while ago. How are you, Bert? And more to the point, what on earth possessed you to send Elizabeth to City South with a strange man?"

"He weren't a strange man," muttered Bert sulkily.

Phryne relented. "No, I know he wasn't. It seemed a rather desperate measure, though." She glared at him. "You're lucky she's such a clever child, and the constable was able to help."

"Here, I like that!" cried Bert, in such injured tones that the Inspector, attracted by the noise, was drawn to the kitchen too. Bert put his palms on the table and his chin up aggressively. "Here's me doing people favours left, right and centre and all I get is grief for something that ain't my fault." His conscience nudged him for a moment, and he added, "Probably."

Mr B, realising that a placatory gesture might be in order, raised an eyebrow at Miss Fisher. Receiving a nod in response, he retrieved a cold beer from the refrigerator and placed it in the hand of the red-ragger.

"Why were you being chased, though?" came the question from the doorway. The Chief Inspector had propped himself, hands in pockets, against the door frame. Phryne was the only one who guessed that the hands were in said pockets in order to avoid the urge to grasp Bert's neck firmly and wring it.

"Search me!" Bert insisted. "No idea who they were. The tracked me back to me cab, though – I hid under it while they were talking." He caught Jack's swift glance out of the window. "Nah. I left it over in Dalgety Street – I think that's how they found me before."

"How _who_ found you?" Phryne insisted. "Elizabeth said you didn't know them."

Bert blinked. "She'd be right, but how …?"

"You didn't immediately start running away, apparently," Jack informed him, smiling slightly. "But you don't recall seeing them before?"

"Nah," Bert agreed, staring at his beer as though it held the answers to the word's problems. "I wondered if it might've been somebody we'd had a bit of a blue with before Cec left town, but …" and he shook his head doubtfully.

"Cec has left town?" asked Phryne blankly. While both of the red-raggers could be troublesome, Cec was generally the calming influence, and Bert the rabble-rouser.

"Yer." Even more morose now, having been reminded of the imminent demise of Cecil Yates as a bachelor-about-town. "Gone to Echuca with Alice. Her aunt's died and left her a house in Ballan."

"Are they moving to Ballan, then?" asked Mr Butler sympathetically.

"Nah," admitted Bert. "But they reckon they can get a place in Melbourne if they sell it, so they're going to set a date."

"Well, well!" exclaimed Phryne. "Lovely for them. What about you?"

"What about me?" asked Bert defensively.

"Ask not for whom the wedding bell tolls, Albert – it tolls for thee."

"Bloody doesn't, Miss, pardon my French."

"Well, not literally, but you're bound to be Best Man, so you do rather have to be there. You'll have to take charge of the ring!"

He looked up at her crossly, then his expression changed and he stared at her.

"What?" she asked.

"The ring!" he said. "Cec's nan's ring! I said I'd pick it up. Got it this morning, but I was a bit surprised. I mean, I know he's pretty stuck on Alice 'n everything, but …"

"Show me," insisted Phryne, dragging chairs out from the kitchen table for them both. Bert rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the box; Phryne snatched it, pressed open the catch and revealed the contents.

" _Jack_!" she whispered. He gave up the support of the door frame and strolled over to see what Cec had selected as the appropriate jewel for his betrothed; then gave a low whistle.

"Who can find a virtuous woman? Her price is far above rubies," he commented. "How on earth did Cec's grandfather afford that?"

"I can't imagine he did," said Phryne bluntly.

"Whaddaya mean?" cried Bert. "You saying Cec's grandpa was a thief?"

"No," said Phryne. "I just think you've got the wrong ring." She looked Bert in the eye. "Bert, if this ring was Cec's he could have bought a whole street ages ago. Do you know what it's worth?"

Bert shook his head, eyes wide.

Phryne shrugged. "Well, I don't either. But I'd say there's another customer with a name like Cec's – or close to it in the alphabet – who might be feeling a touch anxious right now. Mind you," she added, "it seems odd that they wouldn't just wait for the mistake to be uncovered in due course."

Understanding dawned in Bert's eyes. "You reckon that owner might have a couple of blokes out looking for it?"

"It seems likely," agreed Jack, pulling out a chair for himself. "In which case, there would be two places we should look to find out who they are." He waited, looking from one face to another, to see if his extended family was keeping up with him.

"Well, I'd go straight back to the jeweller's, to find out who it belonged to," said Phryne firmly. She turned the ring over in her fingers, admiring the way the eye was drawn to the heart of the central ruby. "Though I wouldn't mind finding out a bit more about it first. It's an extraordinary piece. And those men seem to want it back rather urgently."

Bert had been looking blankly at the Chief Inspector, but jumped to his feet as realisation dawned.

"What if those two blokes went back to the shop as well? They might have found out the mistake – we need to get down to Cec's place!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

It was decided that the Inspector should escort Bert to Cec's lodgings, in case a reception committee happened to be waiting; Phryne, on the other hand thought she could just about make it to Bourke Street before the shops closed. The Hispano-Suiza leaped to the challenge, and she strolled up to a certain shop window just as the assistant was in the process of beginning to remove the display.

His eye caught by the movement, he looked up, and when he saw who was facing him, broke into a charming smile. Putting the ring tray down that he was holding, he motioned to the door and drew it open for her, offering a mock-bow as she made a stately entrance to Lampeter's.

"Miss Fisher. How lovely to see you again," he greeted her and ushered her to a chair.

"You too, Lucas. How are things?"

"Well, thank you. Lampeter's will never be as high-profile as some of the other jewellers in this city, but we are attracting a loyal following with some very valuable clients."

Phryne was prepared to believe it, and laid a lot of the success at the door of the young man sitting opposite her. His lover, Cosmo, was a silversmith who created beautiful and original work – she herself treasured an art-deco style cat pendant which Jack had given her last Christmas – but there was equal, if not greater genius in the sales style Lucas exhibited. His ability to understand a customer's personality within moments of them appearing at the door had almost certainly turned around Lampeter's fortunes after the tragedy of Mrs Lampeter's death a few years earlier – a previous case that Phryne and Jack had resolved.

He was now eyeing her with interest. Life around Miss Fisher was, he found, never dull. "How can I be of assistance?"

"I was wondering whether you could give me an opinion on a rather unusual ring that has come my way," said Phryne, producing the box. She handed it over, and Lucas sprung the clasp with one hand in an experienced fashion.

He was too good a performer to allow his jaw to drop, but the slow blink confirmed Phryne's suspicions.

"An astonishing piece of work," he remarked slowly. "Can I ask … how it 'came your way', Miss Fisher?"

"Entirely by accident," she admitted, "and we're currently working out how to get it back to its rightful owner – safely," she added, which made him look up.

"Oh?"

"There are, it seems, two men who use rather threatening methods," she explained. "I can understand their eagerness, but I do like to be forearmed with forewarning of just what I'm dealing with."

His gaze had been dragged back to the ring, and he took it out to examine it closely. Pulling a loupe out of his pocket, he examined the stones. "Flawless," he remarked, almost to himself. Turning the ring over, his brow furrowed.

"This is … unusual."

"What is?" asked Phryne, craning to see. He turned the ring to face her, and he saw that a small golden disc sat behind the stone.

"One would not usually put anything in that position – it blocks the light from the stone. It is inscribed, I think."

"Let me see," she took it from him. "Lend me your loupe?" She peered at the disc, lips pursed in concentration. "Yes! It looks like a name. _Dieter … von …_ something. _Meier_ , I think. Then something else, underneath. Just one word."

She sat back, speculation in her gaze as it rested on the young jeweller. " _Weimar_. Now, isn't that interesting?"

He was looking at the ring, but not – his gaze was unfocussed. She said his name, and he glanced up at her, returning to the present moment.

"What is it?" she asked gently.

He shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure. It's a germ of a thought of a recollection of something I think I've read recently; but it's escaping me. I think that's because it doesn't make sense for some reason."

She sat patiently waiting while he looked again at the ring and the inscription, before shaking his head sorrowfully.

"No. It's gone. It will come back to me, though. And when it does, I shall telephone you."

"Please do," she smiled, and rose to her feet, placing the ring back in its box and slipping it back into her pocket. He showed her to the door and she kissed his cheek.

"Thank you, dear boy. And thank Cosmo for me too. My silver cat is simply sumptuous."

His eyes lit. "Isn't it, though? And it would go with almost anything you wanted to wear, I think."

"Indeed." _Or nothing at all_ , she thought wickedly, recalling a rather splendid celebration on Christmas Day.

She made good time back to 221B, but was well on her way down her pre-dinner cocktail (Mr B had been tutoring Soo in the dark art of mixing drinks, and her maid had come up with a refreshingly spicy combination with, Phryne thought, rum in the base) before the Detective Chief Inspector's key was heard in the front door.

"In here, Jack," she called, and was slightly taken aback by the grim expression that met her when he appeared in the parlour doorway. "What's the matter? What's happened?"

"Burglars," he replied briefly, collecting a glass from the tray proffered by Mr B before advancing to join her.

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "At Cec's lodgings?"

He nodded. "They'd turned the place upside down. Yates doesn't have many belongings, but what he does have was scattered on the floor. At least there was no real damage done, apart from one broken picture frame. Albert says he can get that repaired."

He looked up at Phryne. "I hope you don't mind. Once we'd finished photographing and clearing up, Bert was pretty shaken, and I said he should come back here. He's gone to leave the taxi in Dalgety Street again, and I thought he could maybe bunk down in the tower room for the night?"

The tower room: which had used to be Soo's territory, and Dot's before she became Mrs Collins, but which was stubbornly unoccupied at present, even though the building work that had necessitated Soo's temporary relocation to the ground floor was long since completed.

(The fact that Mr Butler's rooms were also located on the ground floor was a coincidence never mentioned by anyone).

Phryne's eyes warmed, and she put both their glasses on the table to allow an enthusiastic hug to take place without anyone ending up wearing their cocktail.

" _Clever_ Jack! Of course he should. Was it hard to persuade him?"

"I didn't persuade him," said Jack solemnly. "I told him he was a material witness and it was here, where I could keep an eye on him, or the cells at City South, and he could take his pick. He made me promise not to tell any of his Commie colleagues – I honestly think he's worried that his reputation will be in tatters if it ever gets out that he spent a night in the lap of luxury, on a horsehair mattress in the tower."

Phryne giggled, and told him again how clever he was. He admitted candidly that she was right, and wondered if there were any rewards for genius that might be in the offing.

It turned out there were, and another tie got terribly crushed in the presentation of said rewards.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The Chief Inspector escorted a reluctant Albert to the jeweller's the following morning. Miss Fisher offered to accompany them, and after a show of hesitation, her offer was accepted. Truth be told, Jack had always planned to include her, as he wanted a spare pair of hands, but not, on this occasion, one that came wrapped in a Sergeant's uniform.

It didn't do to let her get too confident, though, he assured himself. Then recalled that he'd rather missed the boat on that one, having not been around to teach her the value of circumspection from the moment she left the cradle.

Come to think of it, he wasn't exactly leaving a noticeable impression on Elizabeth's circumspection either – and he'd been involved with her before she'd even been shown her cradle for the first time.

A portly gentleman looked up when the bell rang on the shop doorway, and his brow furrowed slightly. Jack had lent Bert some shaving kit, and Mr Butler had been given free rein on the red-ragger's outer garments, but there was still clear blue sartorial water between the three people currently gracing the shop doorway.

The Inspector stood back and let Bert take the lead, but the cabbie hesitated.

"Where's the other bloke?" he asked Portly.

"Er ... I'm sorry?"

"The bloke I saw when I was in yesterday."

"Oh. Ah. Yes. I'm afraid Mr Dempster is no longer with us."

[Your reporter unfortunately has yet to come up with typescript that can encompass the word "what" as expressed by three people, in various tones of horror and incredulity, and volumes from a whisper to a full-throated yell. Small caps bold italic doesn't seem to quite cover it. Oh, well.]

"What?" they all asked.

"He's not ... _dead_?" added Phryne.

Portly chuckled nervously. "Oh, my goodness gracious, dear me, no! He made a rather unfortunate mistake, though, and was therefore obliged to offer his immediate resignation. Which was accepted," he added hastily, in case anyone wasn't sure.

"Ah," said the Inspector, and introduced himself. "The mistake wouldn't have had anything to do with the misplacement of a valuable ring, by any chance?"

Portly raised a hand in wild surmise, which trembled as he extended it. "YES! Oh, Chief Inspector, are you by any chance aware of the ring's whereabouts?"

"Intimately," confirmed Jack, and Phryne (in whose pocket the box resided) suppressed a smirk.

Bert, though, was having none of this upper-class by-play.

"Here, are you telling me that bloke lost his job because of an honest mistake?" he demanded. "Do you know how hard it is to come by a decent working man's wage these days?"

"Er …" Portly was now retreating towards the back of the room, glancing nervously over his shoulder to see if there was anywhere he could hide from the Righteous Labourer.

"I'm sure we have no reason to worry, Mr Johnson," Phryne interjected smoothly. She flashed her most dazzling smile at Portly, who went exactly as weak in the region of the knees as was intended. "Mr …?"

"Shufflebotham," he managed, sweating only a little.

""Mr Shufflebotham," she said, without batting an eyelid, "delighted to meet you. The Honourable Phryne Fisher."

A manicured hand appeared to be extended in his direction. He grasped it automatically, bowed from the waist and when released, reached for his handkerchief to wipe away the clamminess that persisted.

"Mr Shufflebotham was only doing as he thought right, and I'm sure we're all very grateful for that. He wasn't, of course, to know how important his colleague would be to the police investigation." She smiled again, but with a hint of sympathy this time. The sort of sympathy one offered to a convicted murderer headed for the scaffold, who had nothing better to wear for the occasion than prison uniform whose trousers kept falling down.

" _Police_ investigation? Oh, but that's dreadful!" he stammered. Then realised the hole he was in was becoming ever deeper. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Chief Inspector … Detective Chief Inspector, I mean …"

Jack, poker-faced, was enjoying himself enormously. Only Phryne could have someone apologise for being rude to a policeman in the proper observance of his duty.

"Don't worry, Mr Shufflebotham," he adjured the man politely. "However, I would be grateful to know where we might find the rightful owner of the ring in question, to ensure that it's safely restored to them; and I think Mr Johnson should also collect Mr Yates' property."

Bending as close to double as his generous waistline would allow (so, not very close at all), the benighted jeweller scurried to the desk at the back of the shop and retrieved a well-worn box and a card.

"Here we are. A Mr Frederick Vimer," he announced importantly.

Fortunately his eyes were on the Inspector, so he didn't see Bert's jaw drop and Phryne's eyes narrow.

The Inspector's peripheral vision, on the other hand, caught both, and so he distracted the jeweller's attention by offering his card in exchange for the goods.

"Thank you," he said. "If you would like to write the details of the goods you've passed me on the back of my card, I'll initial it to give you the receipt you would doubtless prefer to have."

By the time the business was completed, Miss Fisher had resumed her composure and Bert was examining the contents of the box; and he looked troubled as they climbed back into the Hispano.

"Bert, you've a face like a wet weekend. What's wrong now?" asked Phryne.

He shrugged. "Nothing really, Miss. Just when I looked at Alice's ring, I couldn't help thinking about that other one. We couldn't …?" he began hopefully.

"No, Albert, we couldn't," replied Jack firmly, eyes not rising for a moment from the road in front. Phryne shot him a glance, but he refused to meet it.

"Let me see," she asked Bert – and that did make Jack turn his head a little.

 _Don't even think about it._

She raised an eyebrow.

 _Have a little faith, darling._

By that time, the box was in her hand and she opened it, and her eyes softened. She looked over at Bert in the back seat.

"Bert, don't you dare think of switching this for anything else. Alice is going to love it."

He shifted crossly. "It ain't a ruby, though."

She gazed back at the box. "No, Bert. It isn't a ruby. It's an amethyst. The very epitome of calm and balance. I can't think of a better way for Cec to express himself to Alice. If she's half the woman I think she is, she'll treasure this." She snapped the box shut, and handed it back to an unusually wordless red-ragger; then focussed her attention on the driver.

"Right, Chief Inspector, where to next?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Jack signalled and turned before answering her. "City South, first, because I'd rather have Collins with me than Albert for the next part – sorry, Albert," he apologised. "Then you and I are going to call on Mr Vimer."

"Goody!" she said, happily.

"Here, Vimer was the name those two toughs were talking about," Bert leaned forward to tell them.

"Really?" Phryne considered. "Interesting. A pseudonym, perhaps? I have a feeling that the person we're looking for is actually called von Meier."

Jack cast her a puzzled glance, and she explained about the ring's inscription. "I think Vimer might just be a corruption of Weimar."

The Inspector pulled the car to a halt outside the station. "You may be right. Wait here – I'm going to get Collins, and then we can return Albert to St Kilda."

"Ah, what? No way!" complained Bert. "I've got work to do!"

Phryne turned to face him as Jack disappeared into City South. "Bert, dear, until we know who those two men are, I want you kept safe. I'm sure Mr Butler can find you something to do, and with Mary Lou still laid up with that ankle of hers, Elizabeth will want someone to entertain her too."

Mollified, Bert settled back and resigned himself to his fate. Phryne inwardly blessed the twin powers of Tobias Butler and Lin Soo, who between them could render 221B The Esplanade a fortress if necessary.

The Hispano made short work of the journey back to St Kilda, and Bert was escorted to the door by both sleuths.

It was opened by the maid Soo. She admitted Bert wordlessly, but held a hand up to Phryne as she was about to turn back to the car.

"Miss Fisher, there was a telephone call for you. From the jeweller, Lucas. He asked that you telephone him as soon as possible."

Phryne nodded. "Wait for me?" she begged Jack, who shrugged agreement and wandered back to join Collins in the Hispano.

Lucas was the most animated she'd ever heard him.

"Miss Fisher! I'm so glad you've rung. I've remembered what it was about the ruby!"

"All right, Lucas, steady on," she responded. "What have you remembered?"

"If it's the one I think it is, there was a piece about it in one of the trade journals a couple of years ago. The reason it didn't make sense was because it was about a set of jewels that have never, to anyone's knowledge, been in Australia."

"Interesting!" she exclaimed. "Can I hazard a guess that the country of origin is – Germany?"

"Yes!" he said excitedly. "The word was _Weimar_ , just as you said. The ring is just one part of a jewellery set of immeasurable value and historical importance. As well as the ring, there's a collar-style necklace, a matching pair of drop earrings and even a tiara. What makes them a set is the rubies that are used – all of unusual size and quality. They're called the Ettersburg Rubies".

"I'm surprised I haven't heard of them," commented one of Melbourne's pre-eminent aficionados of the Finer Things in Life.

"There is a mystery about them – no-one has known where they are for years," explained Lucas. "They used to belong to the Duchess Anna Amalia of Saxe-Weimar; then they were mentioned as property of Queen Catharina of Westphalia and there's been no word of them since the dissolution of the Napoleonic State."

"Until now!" Phryne agreed. "Lucas, you're an enormously valuable gem yourself. Thank you!"

She returned the telephone to its cradle and, with a shouted farewell to the kitchen, bolted out of the door and flung herself into the passenger seat of the Hispano.

"Drive, Chief Inspector," she instructed imperiously. "I rather think we have an appointment with some _fabulous_ jewels!"

As they wove through the streets, she relayed the story of the Ettersburg Rubies. Hugh Collins was agog, but Jack shook his head doubtfully.

"It's a great story, but why on earth would a set of important jewels that had vanished hundreds of years ago suddenly show up in Australia?" he objected.

"Well, _I_ don't know, Jack!" she replied crossly. "Perhaps they were brought over by some international woman of mystery."

His lips twitched at that, but the Keeper of the Peace decided it would be best to, well, keep the peace.

As he pulled up outside the house, Phryne looked at it doubtfully. Somehow, she'd rather expected the resting place of such fabulous jewels would be a little … _grander_. Perhaps more pillars. Crenellations. The odd spire. Instead, it sat placidly in a patch of neat garden; if houses could speak, this one would be offering to put the kettle on.

They descended from the Hispano, and Hugh Collins gave the door knocker a brisk tattoo. After a few moments, he tried again. Nothing.

"Let's try round the back," suggested Jack. "Collins, you go that way, I'll go the other. Can you wait here, Miss Fisher, in case anyone comes to the front door after all?"

"Of course, Jack," she smiled.

Innocently.

A few minutes later, they were both back at the front door, where Miss Fisher was standing with her back to the door, admiring her beautiful car.

"Any joy, gentlemen?" she asked, backing towards the door to give them room on the step.

"Nothing," said Jack gloomily. "We'll just have to come back later, I suppose. Collins, you'd better wait here in case someone comes in the meantime."

"Yessir," the Sergeant saluted.

Phryne pulled a face and stuffed her hands in her pockets. "I was so sure we were going to get to … Oh!"

As she spoke, she'd started to slump back against the door – which swung open, causing her to lose her balance.

"Goodness, it was open all the time!" she exclaimed artlessly.

The Chief Inspector glared at her.

 _It was locked, and you know it was._

She fluttered her eyelashes winningly.

He groaned. "At least let me go first."

"Of course, Chief Inspector. I wouldn't dream of stepping in front of you."

As Jack stepped warily over the threshold, Hugh Collins moved closer to Phryne's shoulder and muttered in her ear, "What about that thing you said to Dot, Miss? About there being a good woman standing beside every good man, and …"

"Hush, Hugh, we don't want to put the Chief Inspector off his stride."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The hallway showed no signs of life and, by common consent, the three of them split up to check individual rooms. Collins found the kitchen to be clean and tidy, apart from a single cup and saucer on the drainer; but they were cold to the touch, as was the teapot. The Inspector stuck his head into what turned out to be a small study; it occurred to him to look for a safe while he was there, but there was none in plain sight, and the pictures on the walls concealed nothing but less-faded wallpaper.

Phryne wandered into a sitting room and discovered a salon whose decorator had a taste for Victoriana – of the kind favoured during the reign of the British queen, that is. _Opulent_ was the word that sprang to mind, which in the smallish space had an almost suffocating effect. Vines twisted their way up the wallpaper, while heavy velvet curtains in dark red were echoed in the furniture and fittings.

She gulped, and closed the door hastily. Back in the hallway, they confirmed to each other by their faces that they'd drawn a blank.

"Upstairs?" suggested Jack, and receiving two nods, led the way.

There were only four doors off the landing, and one, to a bathroom, already stood ajar. The next gave on to a guest room with no sign of recent occupation, so they converged on what would probably be the master bedroom, with the outlook from the front of the house.

Sure enough, the master was at home. He was in bed, and he was not well. Sweat was beading on his brow, and one hand was clutching his chest, pawing frantically and ineffectually. Jack took in the situation and had only the haziest idea what might be happening, but a very clear idea about what to do.

"Collins, ambulance. Now. Telephone in the study on the left at the foot of the stairs," he said curtly.

The sergeant stood not on the order of going, but went straight to find the telephone.

Phryne approached the bed. Its occupant had seen them, but was more concerned with his own immediate problems. "Help is on the way," she said gently. "Is it … Herr von Meier?"

At first, his eyes widened, but then appeared to relax.

" _Ja_ ," he whispered, and coughed in the attempt.

"We are here to help," said Phryne. "Is there anything you would have us do?"

He panted a little more, then managed one or two words. " _Dieter … suchen sie …_ "

Jack stepped forward. "We have to find Dieter?" he asked, his low voice betraying little of the urgency he felt.

The man could only close his eyes to confirm Jack's query. Then, with a tremendous effort, he began to try to speak once more.

"Shhh!" Phryne urged. "Keep your strength. The ambulance is coming."

He screwed his eyes up. " _Nein … zu spät …_ " _Too late_. Then he muttered something else.

Phryne leaned closer. "Shoe?" It sounded the same in both languages, but why did he want his shoe? She glanced under the bed. Two blameless Oxfords sat there. But the man was trying again.

" _Nein … E …shoo …ka …_ "

"Echuca?" guessed Jack.

The relief from the patient in the bed was palpable, as he closed his eyes in affirmation once more; then they didn't open.

And didn't open.

And the sleuths realised he wouldn't be opening them again.

They lifted their gaze to one another across the bed, but even as Jack opened his mouth to speak, they were disturbed by a noise from below.

Hugh Collins was shouting. "Oy! You can't go up there!" (Quite why they couldn't he would have struggled to explain, but it felt like a Bad Thing and Hugh had learned to trust his instincts).

This was against the thundering of two pairs of feet on the stairs; and then two gentlemen erupted into the room.

Phryne eyed them closely, and dialled the assessment back. Not gentlemen. Just men. Or even, mens, to an observant two year old.

They both looked first at the bed; the taller one then went white, the shorter, red.

The shorter one said "Strewth!"

The taller didn't disagree.

Jack, being on the side of the bed closer to the door, stepped back a shade to close it quietly and stand in front of it. "Good morning. I'm Detective Chief Inspector Jack Robinson of the Victoria Police Force. And you are …?"

The taller of the two glanced doubtfully at his colleague and elected himself spokesman.

"Seth Godwin. This is Joe. He works for me."

"Might I ask in what field?" asked Jack, with painful politeness. These were, after all, highly likely to be the people who had given his darling daughter her first experience of a chase, and while she might have enjoyed it enormously (being, after all, her mother's daughter), he wasn't about to let the matter drop lightly on the perpetrators.

"Bodyguards," said Godwin, without a trace of irony.

For once, both sleuths were rendered speechless. After all, there _was_ undoubtedly a body, offered in plain sight to all those present. However, if he was their erstwhile employer …

Phryne found her voice first. "Was this man your client?" And, after a reluctant nod, "Had he been so for long?"

"Nearly a month," confirmed Godwin. Then peered at her curiously. In his line of work, fashionable dames had one use only, as far as he was concerned. "Who're you?"

"So sorry," she smiled. "The Honourable Phryne Fisher. Lady Detective." Then some devil prompted her to remark, "I like to get my less well-known clients to pay in advance – I do hope you did the same."

The degree to which Godwin's face fell suggested an unfortunate oversight, and he used a word which might have raised eyebrows from any lady who hadn't in her past life enjoyed an eloquent relationship with an Irish navvy-turned-medical orderly.

Godwin then heaved a sigh. "He knew his heart was bad, but he had things to get done. That was why he hired us as soon as he got here.

"Poor old Vimer," remarked Joe, shoving his hands in his pockets in a way which was thoroughly disrespectful to the deceased; although Phryne supposed that, had the deceased not chosen such an inopportune moment to pass away, the pockets might not have been so empty. "Mebbe we shouldn't 've demobbed after all, Seth. This security lark's more trouble 'n it's worth if you ask me."

Judging that the immediate risk of flight of these two witnesses was receding, Jack left his post guarding the door and came to join the party at the bedside. "What 'things'?" he asked.

"There was some stuff he had to pass on to someone," replied Godwin. "Don't know what, except there was a ring that had to go for repair." His face fell even further, and Jack found it in him to pity the man. As failures went, Godwin was winning on every count. He'd had two jobs – to keep his client safe and to get a ring repaired. The client was dead and the ring lost.

"I … believe I know the ring's whereabouts," he stated carefully.

Godwin's head snapped round. "Then you'd better tell me, copper. I've a right to that thing – I'm owed a month's fees."

Before Jack could respond, Phryne leaped in. "Oh, don't be ridiculous. You could cover your fees a thousand times over with that ring."

" _Thank you, Miss Fisher_ ," said the Chief Inspector repressively, and returned to the doorway, opening it to call down the stairs. "Sergeant? These two gentlemen are going to be accompanying us back to the station as soon as the ambulance arrives to take care of their late client."

"Here, here, no need to be hasty," said Godwin hurriedly. "As long as we get what's ours, fair and square, no need for anybody to accompany anyone anywhere."

Jack decided that he'd had enough of them, and let them go on the assurance that they would a) tell Sergeant Collins where they could be found and b) not stir from said location until they'd been told they could, by him.

Closing the door behind them, he leaned against it and grimaced at Phryne.

She raised an eyebrow. "Those two give sleuthing a bad name, Jack. Can't you find _something_ to lock them up for?"

"Well, they probably ransacked Cec's lodgings, but I've got enough on my hands – that can wait."

He walked to the bed and looked down at von Meier's body as though he could will it to speak. "We still have to find the jewels, and their rightful owner. I wish there was more than a caretaker constable in the Echuca station at the moment …"

Phryne grinned. "Don't be silly, Jack. We've got the best possible ally in that town right now, and I bet he'd be delighted to help locate our quarry."

He looked up at her, brow furrowed, then it cleared.

"Cec."

"Cec," she smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

If Hugh Collins had one quality in spades, it was Patience. That was just as well, because getting the telephone call placed to Echuca, getting through and managing to speak to Constable Hogben would have tried the patience of the saint Dot knew very well he wasn't.

Eventually, though, the call was achieved. The Chief Inspector was summoned to the telephone, and the shortcomings of the telecommunications lines were eventually surmounted. Hogben hadn't met Cec, but knew Alice's family very well indeed, and would do his best to help Cec track down Herr Dieter and bring him to Melbourne on the Saturday morning train.

When Jack eventually put the telephone down, Hugh took the opportunity to place a strategic cup of tea under his nose. He took a long draught and closed his eyes thankfully.

Then opened them again and, picking up the saucer, beckoned the Sergeant into his office. Closing the door behind him, he took his seat behind the desk and indicated the chair opposite to Collins, who perched uneasily on the edge of it. Hugh was getting the hang of command quite readily – it was pretty straightforward, mostly, given how green the latest crop of recruits were – but he'd yet to be comfortable with the Chief Inspector's occasional relaxation of the hierarchy between them.

Jack knew he wasn't comfortable, but having staked his reputation on Collins' promotion, was determined to make it a success; and if that meant putting Collins on the spot now and again, Collins would just have to learn to cope.

"Right, Collins," he began, setting cup on saucer. "We've hopefully got von Meier arriving on the train tomorrow afternoon; all we have left to do is track down the rest of those jewels; and I know you'll understand why I want this kept quiet."

"Yes – and no, sir," said Hugh hesitantly. "I mean, we don't want the press hearing about it, but I'd trust our men to say nothing."

"I trust them to _mean_ to say nothing," amended Jack. "All it would take, though, would be a careless word over the washing up and the whole damn city will be looking for those jewels." Hugh had to admit the truth of that judgement, and hoped it wouldn't matter that he'd already poured the whole story out to Mrs Collins.

Jack reflected that one of the skills his sergeant needed to acquire was the ability to dissemble, but carried on. "We don't have many potential hiding places for the jewels; I'd say they're either in storage at a bank, or they're somewhere in that house." He steepled his fingers and considered, before saying slowly, "I'd be surprised if he went straight to a strange bank with something of this nature. Perhaps we need to commandeer a few private forces for a proper search of the house."

In the meantime, Phryne strolled into her parlour, gratefully accepting a martini from Mr Butler while warmly greeting her business partner.

"Dot, darling! Lovely to see you, how did you get on with the fabric samples?"

Mrs Collins accepted a small sherry and delivered a swift report on her progress with their attempts to track down a missing housemaid.

"So, it's all down to the suppliers in Sydney, I think – and I'm hoping to get a telegram back from them by tomorrow." She sipped her drink and cocked her head at Miss Fisher. "What's this I'm hearing about rubies, though?"

Phryne chuckled. "How on earth did Hugh manage to get that story to you in such a short time?"

Dot grinned. "It's amazing how resourceful a man can be, given the opportunity of a twenty minute lunch break and a rendezvous at the pie cart." She set her glass down and leaned forward eagerly. "Please tell me the rest, though, Miss!"

Phryne shrugged, and skimmed a finger around the rim of her martini glass. "I wish I could. 'The rest' as you call it, is really just the location of the rest of this wonderful set of jewels; and I can't think where they can be."

"Surely they'll be in the house?" objected Dot.

"You'd have thought so, but there's no safe there that we could see; and they're far too valuable just to shove in a drawer." She narrowed her eyes and raised her glass. "You're right, though, Dot."

As she spoke, the front door slammed, and Detective Chief Inspector Robinson was heard to call for his wife; she responded by calling his name, and he appeared in the doorway.

They smiled.

They spoke.

"We need to search the house again."

She finished first because he'd already stopped and started laughing,


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

It could have been argued that having six people to search such a small house was going a bit far; but Phryne argued that everyone in the world had a different idea of what was valuable, and would look at the problem differently.

Two cars therefore pulled up _chez_ von Meier on Saturday morning. The police car disgorged Sergeant Collins and one half of Fisher & Williams, Lady Detectives; the Hispano-Suiza executed a stylish swerve into its space (in the opinion of the driver), and Miss Fisher and the Detective Inspector descended, as well as Mr Butler and Lin Soo.

Bert had offered to bring his crowbar to deal with any awkward doors, but was asked instead to accept a day's cab takings to give up his Saturday morning to Elizabeth Jane.

(He pretended to protest, and everyone pretended to believe him.)

When they gained entrance (this time with the assistance of an entirely legal key) they split into pairs. Phryne couldn't face the sitting room, so Mr B and Soo took that challenge on. Hugh and Dot opted to cast a knowledgeable eye over the servants' quarters and started assiduously removing the lids of pots in the larder. Jack and Phryne tossed a coin and therefore headed back to the master bedroom first.

The bed had been stripped, so checking the mattress was the obvious first task; drawing a blank there, Jack took the wardrobe and Phryne the dressing table. Drawers of both interpretations were examined from all angles. Suit linings were methodically felt through, and the shortcomings of cleaners were discovered on the top of the furniture.

Half an hour later, Phryne slumped back on to the mattress and was about to suggest they try the guest bedroom next, when Mr Butler was heard to call from downstairs.

"Miss Fisher? Miss Williams? Inspector? Sergeant?"

The thundering of footsteps on the stairs and through the green baize door heralded the arrival of the policemen and their spouses.

"Mr _Butler_!" exclaimed Phryne. "Don't tell me you've _found_ them?"

He only raised his eyebrows with a knowing smile, and ushered them all into the room, where Lin Soo was sitting composedly on the couch, wearing her most inscrutable expression.

"But, Mr B, the curtains are drawn!" complained Dot. "How can you work when it's mostly dark?"

She moved to the windows and grasped the heavy red velvet.

"No, Miss Williams," Mr Butler held up a hand to stop her, and she looked at him, confused.

Soo spoke up. "I think we will solve the problem by switching on the lights."

The others stood, mystified, for a second; then Phryne walked across to the mantelpiece, at each end of which sat a small lamp. She tugged the pendant that hung from it, and the room was afforded a little illumination. She glanced around the room, but no safe full of jewels was miraculously revealed.

Mirroring her action, Dot lit the matching lamp at the other end of the mantelpiece; Phryne watched her action, and suddenly caught her breath. Turning back to her own lamp, she examined the pendant more closely.

It was a teardrop-shaped chunk of red glass, with clear glass beads leading to the lamp itself; but, although the grease of hands had dulled its lustre, she quickly saw that this was neither red nor clear glass; rather, they were rubies and diamonds.

" _The earrings!_ " she whispered excitedly.

Jack narrowed his eyes, and looked to Soo with a question. She smiled a little and nodded, and he went to the wall switch.

A moment later, the room was flooded with light from the overly ornate chandelier.

The overly ornate chandelier with its central circle of red and clear 'glass'.

Dot's hand went to her mouth, and she sat down rather suddenly on legs that had become rather cotton-woolly.

"The tiara?"

Mr Butler pursed his lips. "I confess, Miss, that having caught on to the idea of hiding in-plain-sight, we have yet to work out where the tiara might be."

The room fell silent as everyone racked their brains for ways to hide a tiara in plain sight.

After a few minutes, Hugh Collins cleared his throat nervously.

"Yes, Collins?" asked Jack.

"Well, I was just thinking, sir – you wear a tiara on your head."

"Yes, you do," Jack confirmed. He wanted to encourage his sergeant, but genuinely had no idea where this idea was going.

"Well, sir … is there a cloakroom?"

They took seconds to process the thought, and then practically jammed shoulders in the doorway as they raced back to the hall.

The cloakroom had little to show for itself – a raincoat and a greatcoat; an old-fashioned Homburg and a box for a gentleman's top hat.

Mr Butler, being the tallest, reached it down from its shelf and with hands that barely shook at all, undid the button securing the lid.

They gazed inside to see – what was indeed, a slightly elderly but still quite serviceable topper.

Everyone tried not to look at Hugh Collins, who was horribly deflated; but then Lin Soo sneaked under his elbow and reached into the box to lift out the hat. She then turned it upside down, and looked inside; and gave a cat-like smile, before handing the hat to Hugh.

He looked, and gasped, and chortled; then turned the inside of the hat to face the others.

It would probably have been a little heavier than normal to wear, but there was plenty of room inside the crown of the topper for a diamond tiara.

Lin Soo's hands now being free, she found them grasped in both of Mr Butler's, who drew her to him. He whispered in her ear.

" _You, my dear, are astonishing_."

Then he kissed her. Very soundly, and in full view of Everyone.

Everyone appeared to view the matter as no more than an average occurrence in the context of the past few minutes, and after a couple of seconds, remembered that the curtains were still needing drawn back and the lights switched off in the sitting room, and left them to get on with it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

There was quite a welcoming party at Spencer Street Station that afternoon. Not everyone wanted everyone else to be there, but no-one was able to make any of the others stay away. So, when Cec, Alice, and a tall, fair-haired gentleman descended from the train, they were met by:

Detective Chief Inspector Jack Robinson (who reckoned it was thanks to him they were there);

The Honourable Phryne Fisher (who took all the credit because of the disc on the back of the ring);

Albert Johnson (who had a bone to pick with Cec about asking people to do people favours);

Dorothy Williams (because she wanted to make sure she was there to hear the rest of the story and not have to get it from Hugh); and

Hugh Collins (because he had to look after Dorothy, _of course_ ).

The only key players who were absent were Mr Butler, Lin Soo and Miss Elizabeth; the first two were preparing a sumptuous tea for the visitor and the Inspector wasn't about to let Miss Elizabeth get anywhere near a railway station for the foreseeable future.

(She said she didn't mind a bit, but could he please fetch some more of the nice lollies that Mr Johnson gave her, Daddy? Which mystified him rather, but made Mumma laugh and promise to help him find some).

"Herr von Meier?" asked Jack, approaching the fair-haired man and hoping his sketchy German would hold up.

"Please, call me Dieter," said the man, with barely a trace of accent, stretching out a friendly hand, which was grasped with no small degree of relief. Jack introduced himself and the rest of the party, the scale of which von Meier appeared to accept with equanimity. He was particularly taken with Miss Fisher, and she played up shamelessly, taking his arm in what her husband regarded as an utterly unnecessary manner to escort him to the Hispano. She then appeared to forget that she'd been driving, and climbed into the back seat with him, beckoning Dorothy to join them.

The two policemen left behind looked at one another blankly and climbed into the front seats, whence conversation rather faltered in the light of the jollity taking place behind them.

It could, Jack thought, have been worse; the conversation between Cec and Bert had passed quickly beyond the animated stage and was verging on acrimonious as the red-ragger party climbed into the taxi to follow the Hispano back to St Kilda.

On arrival at The Esplanade, though, Jack was quick to seize the initiative. Summoning Mr Butler to show their guest to his room, he steered Miss Fisher firmly to the parlour and sat her in an armchair, from whence even she would struggle to make a further assault on Dieter's person. Her eyes were sparkling with hilarity at his blatant efforts to cut her away from the handsome gentleman, and were it not for the presence of Mr & Mrs Collins, she would have reminded him of her personal preference in the male of the species – in no uncertain terms.

She made do with patting a certain part of his anatomy fondly as he turned away, and earned herself an unconvincing glare.

When finally, everyone had acquired a cup of tea, a plate of cakes and sandwiches and a seat, von Meier looked quizzically at the Inspector. "Forgive me, Jack; I believe I know why I am here, but I would be grateful for … shall we say, some assurance."

"I understand," replied Jack. "We are at something of an _impasse_ , in that sense, because the information I hold is also somewhat … sensitive, and cannot be imparted too carelessly." He considered for a moment, then spoke up. "Perhaps I can begin with condolences. Yesterday, my wife," he nodded to Phryne, "and I were present at the deathbed of another Herr von Meier. He was also going by a pseudonym – Vimer?"

Dieter nodded slowly. "And if I were to offer the word _Weimar_ in exchange, would that give you sufficient comfort that I am who I claim to be, Herr Inspector?"

"It would," he confirmed. "Also, the fact that it was he who suggested, with his dying breath, where we would find you. I struggle to believe there are many people of your name in Echuca – or indeed, in the State of Victoria?"

"You would be right," said Dieter simply. "Friedrich was my uncle – my father's brother. My father died in the war, and I could not leave Germany soon enough afterwards, but we kept in touch – chiefly because of a responsibility the Barons von Meier hold, for something enormously valuable."

"The Ettersburg Rubies," said Phryne gently, earning her a sidelong glance.

"Indeed. My family has a responsibility to care for them – for the good of Germany."

"Then why, can I ask, did Herr Friedrich bring them here?"

Dieter's face, which had become animated in talk of his family, became a mask. "We are … worried."

"Worried?" asked Jack.

The other man nodded. "You may not know. There is a new movement in our country now. A man. A little man, an Austrian, who some would call a nuisance, and an irrelevance. But … we watch him steadily chipping away at the freedoms our countrymen enjoy. There are new laws being made, which seem benign, but in the wrong hands …" he looked up at them, and his eyes were darkened, "they could be so very dangerous. And we do not wish our inheritance to be commandeered for a wrong cause. For a sinful cause. _Unerträglich_." _Unbearable_.

"So Friedrich brought the jewels out of the country – quietly," suggested Phryne.

Dieter nodded. "He wrote, in code, to say he was coming to Australia, bringing me a gift – I can only assume he meant the jewels. But … now he is dead … I wish I knew what had happened to them. It will be a difficult task, I fear, but I must find them. For the good of Germany, I must find them." In his emotion, his accent betrayed him once more; the _G_ of his homeland became a hard _Ch_ as though he choked over the word. "You have to understand … it is hard to explain. It is not just their monetary value. They stand for the history of my country. For the establishment. To claim these jewels is to claim … much more than money."

Phryne glanced at Jack, and at his nod, spoke up. "Actually, it may not be so difficult for you to find them, Dieter."

At her words, his head snapped up; the naked hope in his expression was all the _bona fide_ they needed. There was no self-interest here; only a heavy burden that had willingly been shouldered.

The Inspector went to the door, and called for Lin Soo, to whom the honour of presenting the prize had universally been awarded, and who had been waiting in the dining room opposite.

She entered the parlour and her bearing was – _queenly_ , thought Dot. Her head was held high, and her arms were full of a black velvet cushion from Phryne's boudoir, on which were arranged the newly cleaned jewels. The tiara at the centre; the collar arranged round it, with the earrings between the two at each side. The ring that had started it all held pride of place, front and centre.

Dieter could only look, and then look down. Soo knelt to lay the cushion on the table beside him, and retreated to join Mr Butler in the doorway.

At length, Dieter's shoulders heaved, and he looked up at them once more. Phryne was a little shocked; his eyes glistened with a hint of tears, and his features already seemed to have aged.

"Are you … quite well?" she asked him.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, quite well. It has been my family's duty to care for these things for hundreds of years. Now – it is mine," he ended simply.

He looked round at them all. "I thank you." He stood, and gave an elegant bow from the shoulders. "Germany … thanks you."

Bert glanced across at Cec, who was standing behind Alice, his hands on her shoulders. She reached up to touch his fingers, and the amethyst on hers glowed in the afternoon sunlight.

Perhaps, Bert thought, there was something to be said for a nice, calm amethyst.


	13. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Hugh and Dot had left shortly after witnessing the storage of the rubies, and gave Bert a lift in a taxi back to the lodgings he'd started to miss (Mr Butler was a bit too much of a fan of starch in the shirt collar for Bert to want to stay at 221B terribly often). Cec and Alice took a little longer to dislodge, but only because their connection with the outside world, when faced with the likely onset of connubial bliss was … tenuous. Eventually, Phryne shepherded Alice to the taxi with a warm-but-firm arm and an offer of help with flat-hunting.

Dinner was quiet and elegant, because Mr Butler was the happiest anyone had ever seen him, Lin Soo had taken sole responsibility for the cocktails and Elizabeth was in bed, trying and failing to watch the stash on the nursery mantelpiece of lollies that her parents had brought home, because her eyes kept stubbornly trying to close.

After post-prandial whiskies, Jack offered to show Dieter up to bed and make sure he had everything he needed; Phryne meandered through to the kitchen to offer her thanks. Tobias and Soo, having made short work of what washing-up there was, sat at the table cradling delicate cups of jasmine tea. She sank down beside them and accepted another cup then attempted, with an air of carelessness, to ask an impertinent question.

They exchanged glances; Soo spoke first.

"Grandmother would never allow it."

"Leaving Grandmother – an immensely worthy woman, of course – firmly to one side, please understand that we really don't wish to marry, Miss."

"Not _wish_ to, Mr B?" She was genuinely surprised. Mr Butler might not be the triple pillar represented by the other gentleman of the household, but he certainly had some fairly self-evident Doric characteristics.

"It is true, Miss Phryne. For my Tobias," Soo glanced at him, and Phryne was surprised to see a vulnerability in Mr Butler's expression she'd never imagined could be compatible with his omnipotent image, "marriage is what he had so happily and for so many years. What we have now is … something other."

Mr Butler, without taking his eyes off the young woman, finished her thought for Phryne.

"Something … of an adventure, Miss Fisher."

Soo's eyes sparkled with laughter and Phryne felt all of a sudden rather _de trop_.

It was not a feeling to which she was accustomed, and in case it became an unpleasant new habit, she dealt with it by excusing herself and going to check on the progress Detective Chief Inspector Robinson was making with … whatever he was doing.

It turned out that he was doing it in her bed, while snoring gently, and he succeeded beautifully at Not Minding the interruption. The waking version of Mrs Robinson was, after all, immeasurably better than even the most delightful dream.


End file.
